


Draw

by hotlegfryegg



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, M/M, Not Beta Read, detective nea, errybody's here, excessive tarot references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-06-09 04:06:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15259074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotlegfryegg/pseuds/hotlegfryegg
Summary: It's all in the cards.





	1. Seven of Swords, Reversed

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [ODDFELLOWS](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9658397) by [DrTanner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrTanner/pseuds/DrTanner). 



> giving a new meaning to spiritual successor

It took Nea Karlsson being hefted up and over the Wraith’s bony shoulder and a a good three-fourths of the way to the basement to realize that she had absolutely, utterly been had.

 

When the blackness of an incoming trial faded to reveal a sea of long-dead corn stalks, Nea was ready. Sneaking was the name of the game and she was its alter ego, slipping into the field like a fish in water and waiting for a sign of her adversary. She'd lost count of the hours in this hell-hole; it was enough to burn muscle memory and before the foreboding ring of a bell hit her ears she had left nothing but a busted totem and footprints. It was all hide and seek a thousand times over. A routine of cat and mouse on repeat. A nightmare had become the mundane. And it was almost enough to make her fearless.

 

Almost.

 

The bell caught her off-guard: it was something no survivor had heard in what seemed like ages. Not that trials against the Wraith were all that common before, but all at once he seemed to. Well. Vanish. Right around the same time as when Park returned from his mysterious “vacation” (the man liked his privacy, but straight disappearing was something else). The majority of survivors seemed content to chalk it up to coincidence, including Nea, since stranger things had happened before and since. As more time passed, the absence of a killer became less and less noticed--until, of course, now. Back with a vengeance from the sound of it, too.

 

She nearly blew a fuse off a half-done generator when the first yell echoed through the arena. Dwight gave her a long-suffering look from her left, having caught the wire she dropped just before the engine could erupt. Nea fired her own glare right back, snatching the wires out of his hands and shoving them at each other before they magically joined, as if they had never been frayed at all. Whatever complaint her companion had was deliciously cut off by his own near miss with a faulty fuse, and Nea revelled in a little pettiness as the self-proclaimed "leader" shoved his hands back into the machine with the fervor of someone desperately trying to casually brush off a mistake. Business as usual resumed and, with no other hiccups, the generator groaned to life by the time a second yell was heard from the ass end of the cornfield.

 

That was the weird thing about the Entity's game: communication was limited. Usually the only sounds from other survivors were grunts of pain, shrieks of shock or injury, and of course, the scream that came with someone getting a hook through a tender spot. The power of speech was still there, but it was like someone coated your ability to comprehend language with molasses. Words felt heavy in the mouth and doubly so in the ear, so gestures and body language were the usual modes of conveying a plan--or a lack thereof. Nea glanced at the source of the scream, then back at Dwight. Then back at the noise, then back at Dwight with a little more intent. And the bastard had the gaul to stand from the generator, push his glasses further up his beaky little nose, turn on his heel, and walk calmly in the opposite direction from their downed teammate.

 

Right. This one was all hers.

 

Pushing off with a sigh from the engine, she jogged briskly past the slotted wood mazes that lined the arena and skidded to a stop by what the survivors called "pig tree"--a massive oak with porcine carcasses strung up like some macabre parody of a Christmas tree, complete with animal squeals coming from some unknown source. Nea was just in time to catch sight of the Wraith himself, with none other than Jake park caught in his grasp. 

 

Making any kind of a rescue in this realm was incredibly risky, and most survivors at this point would turn their back on their teammate. She leaned back against the hay bale, breathed in the stench of rotting pork and fire, and mentally rehearsed her every move. Wait for the killer to leave, zip in, grab Park off the spikes and vanish before the stupid monster knew any better. Easy. What happened to her idiot teammate after the fact was not her problem, and if he got his ass kicked back into the dirt, at least Nea could brush off any blame with “sucks to be you, Juke Puke”. She was a hero for trying where most would have left him to die.

 

The trickiest part of any rescue is waiting for the killer to kindly fuck off to literally anywhere else. Even with the bait for a bleeding heart so perfectly laid, most killers figured they had better shit to do than wait and watch the survivors wrestle the Entity. The ones that did stick around were usually smart enough to give the hook a little air and provide the illusion of off-fucking. But for whatever reason, the muddied-up son of a bitch would just. Not. Leave. 

 

It was as if the Wraith had been personally wronged by Park. The ghoul was growling a furious trill, pacing a short line in front of the hook and glancing at Jake every now and then. One would almost think he were an angry parent berating a child, and Jake refused to look the killer in the face like a petulant child.

 

Nea felt the barest tinge of nostalgia, grabbing the coattails of a memory before it had totally fled her mind.

 

And just like that, the sound of Dwight fucking up another generator pierced the air. Perfect bait for any bloodthirsty killer.

 

Any second now.

 

Aaaaaany second.

 

...  

 

Finally. With a last, withering glance at the survivor he’d caught, the Wraith struck his bell and cantered off to fuck knows where, leaving nothing but rustling grass as evidence of his path. The Entity was poised to strike, but still a little patchy--meaning there was just enough time to play hero. Everything was lining up for a brilliant save, and in hindsight, Nea’s cockiness in the moment might have been her achilles heel. Speed-sneak in, get a good grip on Jakes middle, heft up, shimmy him forward and get peeled back by a growling Wraith wait what

 

Nea was rudely yanked from her prize by a frigid hand wrested in the fabric of her flannel, and Jake’s loud exclamation of “fuck!” was enough for her to rebound from the surprise as she was pressed into the dirt and then hefted up into the jut of the killer’s shoulder. And then it all happened like lightning.

 

Nea pulled a piece of jagged scrap metal from her back pocket.

 

Jake grabbed the hook above his head and pulled.

 

Nea stabbed the Wraith perfectly between the ribs and landed a dazzling kick to the side of his head on the way down.

 

Jake fell to the ground with a thud.

 

Nea landed wrong and felt the wind leave her lungs.

 

Jake pulled on a board at the base of the hook and it snapped, causing the structure to collapse against the masonry.

 

Nea scrambled with a wheeze to get away from the now incredibly pissed killer.

 

Jake fucking hesitated. He stared slack-jawed like a damn fool at 8 feet of supernatural stick.

 

The Wraith snarled and swung his axe, and just as fast as all this happened, it was over.

 

Somewhere through blood loss and the tinnitus, Nea could have sworn she heard a “sorry”. It somehow didn’t sound like it was aimed at her. She felt her limbs swing akimbo, no fight to be found in them as she was carried away. Each thud of the Wraith’s footsteps vibrated into her gut and time seemed to slow as she processed, calculated, willed her head to stop spinning so whatever the fuck just happened could catch up.

 

And once the ringing between her ears subsided, about 10 feet from a descending staircase, it dawned on her.

 

Jake fucking Park was a dead man walking.


	2. Death, Upright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -chanting- bill, bill, Bill, Bill, BILL, BILL, BILL, BILL

It may have only taken that long to realize, but the ordeal started much, much earlier.

 

To be precise: the Vanishing of Jake Park started with Bill.

 

It wasn’t exactly an infrequent occurrence for the Entity to, at random, shit out someone entirely new. It was almost a regular thing: sometimes, you’d walk off to a trial, and come back to the campfire to see some baffled-looking dipshit gawking at the folks seemingly materializing out of the woods. Or perhaps you’d be trying to catch up on sleep while things are relatively quiet and a whole-ass person would quite literally fall out of the blue on top of you (to be fair, Laurie was _very_ sorry). Considering what you were supposedly here for, the Entity certainly didn’t consider its cargo precious by any means.

 

The introduction of William Overbeck to the fold was much the same. Nea was just chatting with a couple others by the fire, shaking a pebble out of her shoe when a very disgruntled looking old man hobbled out of the bushes rubbing his back from the rough landing. Head to toe in vintage military fatigues that looked like something out of a museum, smoke trailing off of a lit cigarette in his mouth, and what Nea could only describe as a genuine shocked face at the appearance of the campfire

 

Like every new person, he had quite a lot of questions.

 

But they weren’t the usual questions.

 

“How long have you kids been holed up out here?”

 

“Anyone been bit?”

 

“What kind of weapons you defending yourself with?”

 

“No infected around here? At all?”

 

To say these questions made those around the fire uncomfortable would have been a gross understatement.

 

“What do you mean, what do I mean? You’re telling me none of you, not one has seen a horde roll through here? Or gone looking for the military? Do you even know what the hell is going on out there?!”

 

“Yo, grandpa, relax--”

 

“Relax? You guys have no guns, no weapons of any kind! You’re out in the middle of a fucking forest for chrissake! There’s no way I can relax when nobody here knows how to goddamn--”

 

“Shut the fuck up and--”

 

“S-sir?” Claudette gently grabbed the old man’s arm, pulling his attention from an annoyed-looking Meg. “I can, uh. I can try to explain why we don’t understand. Come sit with me, okay?”

 

If the temptation of answers wasn’t enough, you’d have to be soulless to turn down Claudette’s doe-eyed plea. The old man narrowed his eyes, his mouth a flat line as he let himself be led to sit on a log a short ways away from the camp itself.

 

Orientation was always rough.

 

“Geez, the fuck was his _deal_?!” Meg slid backward over where she had been perched on a log, stretching her arms before folding them under her head with her legs bent over the tree trunk. “J’you hear that shit, Neepo? Sounds like some zombie flick. Infected and guns and bites.”

 

“Real pleasure cruise, huh, Red?” Nea folded her arms, still watching the way Claudette’s hands moved as she talked to their newcomer and the way the man’s frown twitched deeper every other moment. “I wonder if he’s not just a Prenner or something.”

 

“A what?”

 

“Ah,” she looked back and Meg, whose lips were pursed in confusion. “Prenner. It was a local term in the Rhode Island town I moved to. There was an old psych asylum out of Providence--you know that weird looking circular building with the gen upstairs? Crotus Prenn. If you were called a Prenner, you were batshit.”

 

“That’s weird.”

 

Nea shrugged. “It’s an American thing.”

 

“It’s definitely not an American thing.”

 

“Rhode Island thing, whatever. It was a thing, though.” She shifts, turning over to lay herself identical to Meg with her arms folded across her chest. The fire spat a puff of embers up into the sickly yellow sky, and for a moment Nea could almost trick herself into thinking they were stars. “Do you think he’s telling the truth?”

 

“I dunno.” Meg lifted a hand, examining the chipped nail polish she’d had on ever since she got here. “If he is, am I supposed to be grateful we’re here instead? Honestly, shooting zombies and kicking ass sounds more fun.”

 

“Having a gun to shoot sounds more fun. ‘Specially if you could take one to the face of onna the creeps around here.” David flopped down on Nea’s left, shoving his hands behind his head and crossing his ankles over the log. “I’d personally love to invite Miss Cottontail to a cuppa gunpowder green.”

 

“You’d probably just piss her off. That mask looks pretty thick.”

 

“Pretty thicc,” Meg parroted, yawning. After a moment of deliberation, she piped up again. “Huntress could raw me.”

 

As if on queue, Nea and David’s choruses of _what the fuck_ and _bloody christ_ were cut short by a wave from Claudette, towing their weary eyed newcomer gently by the elbow. Nea and David both sat upright, whereas Meg just propped her head up a little higher on her arms.

 

“Guys, this is Bill. He’s from--what did you say? 2011, right?” Claudette beamed for a beat, then turned to look at Bill, prompting a response at his quiet with a soft squeeze where her hand was wrapped around the crook of his arm.

 

Bill just nodded grimly, examining the younger crowd’s faces but not quite looking them in the eye.

 

“Uh. Right,” the younger woman turned back to her fellow survivors, face brightening. “These are some of the others you’ll be, uh, working with. F-for lack of better terms. This is Meg,” she gestured, and Meg threw up a peace sign from her relaxed position. “Nea,” who gave a flippant wave, “and David,” who gave his signature smile, missing teeth and all.

 

“Welcome to hell, please enjoy the complimentary campfire and don’t let the hatch door hitcha on yer way out.”

 

“David, _please_.”

 

“No hard feelings, by the way.” Meg finally sat up, shaking dried grass from her braids. “We’ve got a 100% freak-out rate with noobs. I yelled too, when I got tossed in. Purgatory’s a real shitter.”

 

“... You kids been here long?” Bill stepped forward to take a seat on the end of the tree trunk, hunching over with his elbows on his thighs. This seemed to please Claudette’s desire for camaraderie, and she sat herself next to where David was now propped against the wood with his arms stretched out on either side. Nea nestled into David’s side, taking comfort in her friend at her back.

 

“Me and Claudette have been around the longest, we think.” Meg shrugged, staring at the fire. “Entity pulls people from everywhen. Four of us showed up at the same time, and we’ve been here since. I’m from the late 20-teens. Dette is from 2007-ish, and Dwight’s from 1990-something.”

 

“What about Jake? Did we ever ask when he was from?” Claudette said.

 

This prompted a snort from Nea. “As if we’d get a straight answer. Park’s a gremlin who lives under a fucking rock. Pretty sure the stick up his ass is a permanent fixture.”

 

“Jake is _not_ a gremlin.” Claudette chided, before turning back to their guest. “What Nea means is, Jake can be… hard to talk to. He’s a very solitary person who doesn’t like confrontation, or being overcrowded. But! He’s a really, _really_ smart guy when you get to know him!”

 

“Smart ass, more like. The man’s a gremlin, confirmed.” David raised a hand to ward off Claudette’s objecting swat. “S’not like he’s a bad guy, Park’s just a fuckin’ hermit with a mean streak. I haven’t seen him in a trial or five after Dwight near bit my damn head off.”

 

“Oh god, yeah. After you sandbagged the geek straight into Meyers’ crotch. That was gruesome to watch,” Nea chuckled. “Dwight was foaming at the mouth when we got back. I thought he was gonna pop.”

 

“Oi, Jake started it! Pulled me off basement back without so much as a ‘how d’ye do’ an’ off again into the fuckin’ soup! Not my fault I’m wiping fuckin’ blood out my eyes when I run smack into two mouthbreathin’ pisswits.”

 

That got a cackle from Meg and even a soft snort from Bill.

 

But Claudette was unamused. “Wait--how long ago was it?”

 

“Was what.”

 

“Was the last time you saw Jake?” Claudette’s hands clenched into fists, her eyebrows furrowed behind her thick glasses. “You said five trials.”

 

“... Yeh, did I? ‘S bout right.”

 

“He’s never been gone that long. Have any of you been on trial with him?”

 

The chorus of _no_ turned into a heavy silence as the realization settled in. A beat passed as they looked between one another. Claudette excused herself to go look for the rest of their group, leaving Bill with the other three, but the joking aura of the conversation had dissolved into a permeable unease.

 

Nea thought hadn’t thought about it until now: Jake would take time and get space from the rowdiness of the group fairly frequently, but he’d always circle back to the fire just before a trial started up. No matter what direction someone walked in, they’d always circle back into the same little camp. Survivors were in high demand for the Entity’s little games and it was never long before your turn came around to wrestle with death. But five trials was an extent that **nobody** had managed to disappear for. So the explanations were far and few.

 

Did he find a way out? Or get stuck somewhere? Or did the Entity finally get tired and just…

 

“Karlsson.”

 

Nea looked up from where she had with a noise of surprise to find David rising to his feet before turning to her with his hand out. His face was grim, and his voice low. “Trial’s on.”

 

Any excuse not to think about the possibility of a final death was welcome. She grabbed David’s offered hand and rose to her feet, rolling her shoulders a couple times before starting towards the clearing that had emerged, a second campfire flickering at the edge of their own circle. Meg was already waiting--and where normally she met trials with a fire of challenge in her eyes, she now stood stalwart in the clearing and stared at the ground. This revelation clearly didn’t sit well with her, either.

 

Words fell apart as Nea crossed through the gateway. Language was gone, even here. There was little comfort between them as she took up her place next to Meg. David took up her other side, keeping an eye on the two women beside him through his periphery. Nea looked back towards the clearing to see Bill reluctantly returning to his seat as Claudette briskly jogged to join them.

 

And if they all stood a little closer together than usual, nobody spoke about it after.

 


	3. The Tower, Upright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake is missing, Dwight is a dick, Laurie is farming, and Claudette misses a healing skill check.
> 
> So basically your average Rank 18 game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy I sure do love the oxford comma

One trial turned into five.

 

Living in such a tight cluster of people didn’t breed social anxiety so much as a different kind of pressure: finding literally anything to pass the time other than sleep or sit by the fire, and interpersonal activity was limited to the sorry souls in residence within the Entity’s terrarium. It wasn’t uncommon to be buddy-buddy with someone one minute and screaming in each other’s faces the next, simply because there was little else to do and the greatest entertainment came from drama. But with Jake’s vanishing came an entirely new hell.

 

The entire camp was _dead silent_.

 

Nobody knew exactly how to process this new dilemma, because nobody had ever just vanished here before. Conversations never really started because how exactly does one start casually talking about the possible epidemic of perfectly ordinary people going missing within a supernatural dimension where death at the hands of an ex-human massacre machine by way of meat hook is a staple of existence?

 

Precisely.

 

Five trials became fifteen.

 

If you weren’t on a trial, you were looking for Jake Park at the behest of Claudette. In pairs or groups of three, mind you, because god forbid another survivor vanish right under everyone’s noses. Searching was mandatory, however, because if there was one thing you Did Not Do Under Any Circumstances, it was intentionally make Claudette Morel sad.

 

Searching seemed a little counter intuitive, though--every broken branch, every footprint in dirt, every kicked rock would reset itself the moment it wasn’t being observed. That’s just the way the Entity worked; it kept it’s cages tidy at all times. There wouldn’t have been any trail left for them to find, if Jake was making one. But bringing this up meant possibly doing the one thing you Do Not Do Under Any Circumstances, so the survivors went looking anyway.

 

When on occasion the Entity gave the survivors chance for an excursion away from both trials and camp, the opportunity for some time alone was normally a hot commodity often contested amongst the group. Now that leaving the clearing came with the threat of never coming back, the offer was suddenly a great deal less desirable. Bill’s arrival meant that there was already a willing candidate to search these venues since he was happy to explore with little to lose should he meet his end outside of a trial. And Nea, suddenly craving an opportunity away from the heavy atmosphere of camp, would volunteer to tag along.

 

As the duo walked the circumference of the lake, they would talk.

 

Nea quickly took a liking to the old man. Bill was smart with a tongue barbed by age and resentment, and funnily enough was almost as anti-establishment as Nea herself. The veterans’ system in America was terrible, she’d learned, and the military had gone to shit during what Bill called “the infection”.

 

He must have been a author or something, the way he told stories. Zombie invaders and monsters with twenty-foot tongues, wandering sirens who would kill if you encroached, and bloated men who would explode with bile. Nea liked the protagonists best of all: a happy-go-lucky office clerk, a quick-witted college flunkee, and a biker who just hated everything. Bill would weave tapestries of desperation and triumph and survival and Nea was practically there with him, four guns against an unending tide of film-fresh terrors. Nea loved these stories.

 

She didn’t like the haunted look on Bill’s face when he told them.

 

Some people stopped going off to look for Jake early into the search--mostly those who never got along with him. Dwight was particularly quick to throw in the towel, deciding that if their missing friend hadn’t turned up by now that chances were he was gone forever and that there was no use crying over him. Feng, too, stopped joining the others on searches in favor of trying to rile up anyone within earshot. By her metric, Jake just couldn’t keep up and was out of the game. And David no longer accompanied the scouting parties, not because he didn’t like Jake, but because if the man was still alive and out there, then certainly he’d find his way home.

 

Of all people, Claudette seemed the most distraught by Jake’s leaving. Meg was more on edge than normal, but she certainly hadn’t begged the other survivors to take up looking for Jake; Claudette was downright frantic and often had to be strong-armed into resting rather than circling the clearing and calling for him. Dwight, for all he wasn’t going to search anymore, seemed off-put by the two girls’ reactions; at least feigning vague concern for their sakes. After all, Jake was one of the first four survivors to present memory and the thought of never seeing him again was quite agonizing for the three he left behind (even if Dwight would never admit it out loud).

 

Not one person dared talk about why Jake might really be gone. Some chatter returned, but there was no laughter around the campfire; everyone was spent between trials and dying and running and searching for hours on end. It was the most somber, silent time Nea had seen since she’d come here.

 

Jake would have appreciated the quiet.

 

Fifteen trials became fifty.

 

By now, looking for the missing survivor had become a routine. You’d get back from a trial, buddy up with the person you’re least at-odds with, yell a bit while meandering off into the woods or the Entity’s detour, get back to the bonfire, sleep, wake up, get called to a trial, rinse and repeat. It was a mode of life Nea certainly was coming to like, because even under such dire circumstances the sheer amount of walking, running, crouching, and activity was an excellent expenditure of time with purpose. Sure, it wasn’t like Nea didn’t do this on a regular basis anyway, but now she had a good reason to. A project with a beginning and an end.

 

… To what end? In a place like this, how precious was just one life?

 

Nea didn’t want to think too hard about it.

 

At one point, the entity offered up a path in the woods that, when followed, lead into the Red Forest. A large handful of survivors went this time around; some went to search, of course, but some just went for the chance to explore the Huntress’s stomping grounds without her in it, which itself was a rare opportunity. The Red Forest was dense, forever wet between thick mist and gentle rain, and only illuminated by a spattering of candles throughout. Outside of a trial, there were none of the wood structures made to obscure generators or lockers or prey. It was simply a forest, with a house, in hell.

 

Amidst the things Nea never really liked about the Red Forest, aside from it being far too rustic for her personal liking, was the fact that it smelled like absolutely nothing. In the real world, the air here would have been saturated with pine and soil and petrichor. Where the Entity was concerned, if it’s not gasoline or rotting flesh, why smell it anyway?

 

The rain felt nice, at least. It was real water--something rare outside of the lake--and the feeling of droplets on skin brought a level of tranquility seldom found anymore. Nea had taken a break from circling the woods for the umpteenth time with Claudette and Ace to sit on a log and take in the ambiance. Rustic and fake, maybe, but if seen from the right angle, perhaps it could be pleasant enough.

 

She took a deep breath in through her nose and blew out through her mouth, rubbing the damp arms of her pink flannel shirt to ease the goosebumps that rolled across her skin in waves. Nea’s seat of choice faced the Huntress’s cabin and she could clearly see Ace and a couple others warming up inside. Even from here, one could tell that all eyes were on the gambler as he broke into a story, using the killer’s dining table as a stage. With a snort, Nea wondered if his muddy footprints could soak into the tablecloth as a nice present for the killer.

 

“Hey.”

 

Nea nearly jumped out of her skin at the low voice of Laurie. “Whoa. Nice one, Strode. Think you can sneak up on the killer like that?”

 

This won a dry chuckle from Laurie with a smile that didn’t quite match. “Actually, I was hoping you could help me with something. C’mon.”

 

Despite a raised eyebrow, Laurie didn’t have to ask Nea twice. The two walked a short distance off, with the blonde leading the way and the urbanist following suit, until they came to a circle of tall rocks with a small shrine of lit candles within the circumference. Laurie dropped into a squat, pulling her ever-present metal scrap from its home in her back pocket, and blew out the lights.

 

“... So… you just want the candles?”

 

“Yup.” Laurie slid her shiv under the half-melted candle until it was freed from the puddle of wax with a soft pop.

 

Nea crouched down next to her companion and was gifted the still-smoking candle. “How many do you need?”

 

Laurie handed Nea a second candle. “How many can you carry?”

 

“What, you have a sudden urge to make wax figures?”

 

This made Laurie stop, candle number three in hand, beads of hot wax dripping into the wet grass. She took a deep breath, thinking her next words over carefully, then looked Nea dead in the eye.

 

“I want to have a funeral for Jake.” She placed the candle gently next to the others in the crook of Nea’s arm. “And I want it to look nice.”

 

Nea felt her mouth go dry.

 

“I know Claudette wants to find him. We all--most of us do.” Laurie went back to the rest of the altar, going in for a particularly tall candlestick. “But if he was still alive, he’d be here. We can sit and panic about him until the cows come home, or we can let him go and have some resolution.”

 

“I see.”

 

“And I figure it’d be good for us to have one big sendoff. We can all get it out of our system, have a nice gross cry about it together.”

 

Pulling the last candle from its place and leaving the altar bare, Laurie turned to Nea. “Is that okay, d’you think? Just… just doing it?”

 

Nea swallowed thickly. “Y-yeah, no, I, uh. … Yeah.” She adjusted the bulky candles in her arms and cleared her throat. She didn’t look at Laurie’s face. “You’re right. Probably. He, um. Jake. Jake’s gone.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Softy, bitterly. “Yeah.”

 

If Laurie could have stabbed the tension with her makeshift knife and made a run for it, Nea wagered she probably would.

 

Fifty trials ebbed into numberless.

 

The funeral was nice, considering what all they had to work with. Laurie had convinced Ace and David to take as many candles from the Red Forest as they could find and arranged them around the base of a tree near the campfire. Without any way to make a permanent grave, and no memorabilia from Jake himself, David kindly donated an “Alex’s Toolbox”--one of the toolboxes gifted on occasion to the survivors, this particular kind was used best to sabotage the killers’ hooks and traps, and was something often seen in Jake’s hand as he’d attend trials with the rest. It only made sense to set one in the center of the carefully-made display, where it cast oblong shadows of jutting wrenches and screwdrivers that swayed with the candlelight.

 

For all that it was Laurie’s idea, she was certainly no public speaker and was content to let Ace act as master of ceremonies for the whole affair. And knowing Ace’s ability to captivate a room, there wasn’t a dry eye amongst the survivors. Even Dwight was wiping away tears behind his glasses, hiding a sob with a very forced cough. Jake had been here long enough to leave good memories behind, hermit lifestyle be damned, and almost everyone had something to share. The word “gremlin” was not said once (however, Nea was definitely thinking it).

 

Claudette had her arms crossed, clutching into her sleeves so hard Nea was shocked the fabric didn’t give. The girl stood as silent as someone can while fighting tears and mucus, staring at the toolbox so hard she might have bored a hole into the side of it. Nea could tell this was hitting Claudette somewhere ugly inside, because she had never wanted to give up the search, because that would mean giving up on Jake.

 

Jake, who by all accounts could have probably survived anything.

 

As the others started trickling away, Claudette stayed behind, along with Dwight and Meg. Nea gave her friends space--but everyone was watching as the three huddled with shaking shoulders as together they said a final goodbye.

 

After that, Feng, David, Ace, and Bill were called off to do the Entity’s bidding and Claudette wandered off for some time alone, leaving the rest of the lot to sleep by the ever-present bonfire. Pressed shoulder to shoulder and lulled by Meg’s soft breathing, Nea was almost there… but something was off. 

 

There was a feeling of tugging in the back of Nea’s mind and it wouldn’t let her drift, because  _ you’re missing something you’re missing something you’re missing something _ . Today was exhausting enough as is and whatever this feeling was, it was certainly unwelcome right now, so she pushed it as far as she could to the back recess of her mind and told it to stay there. To her delight, it did, and sleep was finally almost upon her when

 

“You’re a creep.”

 

“Bwhuh?” Nea wrinkled her nose, eyes opening as Meg started curl in on herself, her face ducked into her knees. “Why am I a creep?”

 

“That was the last thing I told him. ‘You’re a creep.’”

 

Oh, no. “Meg…”

 

“He’s not a creep, Nea.”

 

“No. He wasn’t.”

 

“He’s not,” Meg’s voice was thick with emotion, but adamant. “He’s not a creep.”

 

“I know.”

 

Meg raised her head from her knees to stare at the last candle on the verge of winking out. The toolbox was gone, taken for another purpose and leaving only a squared pool of cooling wax behind. “I don’t... pretend to be a nice person. Aspergers makes it hard to be--makes it hard to be super nice, and it’s only been worse in this stupid f-fucking shithole, because every time I’m happy I just get--get ag-gressive, and ev-v’ry time I’m sad or mad or anything I just get loud. I. I can’t help it. But I never meant any of th-at. Jake’s n-not a creep.”

 

Nea sat up cross-legged, searching Meg’s profile against the red light of the campfire. Tear tracks broke through the grime on Meg’s cheeks, shining and clean against blood and dirt and sweat. Both were quiet for a moment, the only sound between them being the soft crackle of the flames and Meg’s hiccuped breathing.

 

Then Meg wiped her face on her sleeve and conceded with a wet chuckle, “He totally is a gremlin, though.”

 

“Oh shit, you thought so too.”

 

And then both women were half laughing, half crying, arms around each others shoulders and eyes puffy and red. Despite the roiling feeling of something misplaced sitting deep in the pit of Nea’s gut, it was the first real laugh either of them had had in too long to not enjoy.

 

“God, I remember the first thing he ever said to me,” Nea said, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her flannel with a sniff. “‘You look’--oh, man--’you look like some kind of cryptid when you crouch around like that’! He used to call me Kappa-son, d’you remember?”

 

“I do! I do, and he had to explain it after he jumped that one time in the swamp--”

 

“In the swamp when I came out of the reeds behind him, yeah!”

 

“--and we all called him Crikey for, like, a week--”

 

“He used to get so mad--”

 

“Soooo mad!”

 

They both threw back their heads and absolutely howled with laughter at the mental image, when Jake had nearly thrown himself into a chest after being spooked by a crouched Nea emerging from behind. Even he had found it funny at first (even though the nickname admittedly got old quickly).

 

“I want to think he’s still out there,” Meg confided, pressing her head into Nea’s shoulder. “If anyone could survive anything, it was Juke Puke. He could take a beating and power through it without a sound. An absolute fucking unit.”

 

Nea squeezed her arm around Meg’s shoulders, rubbing her hand against the other girl’s arm. “Maybe he is. I want to think so, too.” She cleared her throat, staring pensively into the fire in front of her. “Some part of me just can’t see him dying for good. Not here.”

 

“Maybe he’s embraced his inner gremlin and is frolicking about with the killers.”

 

“Tch, no, he’d never--”

 

“Tell me you can’t picture him covered in crows with a million broken hooks everywhere, back on his gremlin shit.”

 

“... Okay, maybe.”

 

“Long live the gremlin, may he frolic in peace.”

 

“May his hooks be ever sabo’d and his crow children be many!”

 

“Amen!”

 

“For the love of christ, shut the FUCK UP.” A rock flew from the other side of the campfire, skidding harmlessly past Nea into the brush beyond. “Some of us are trying to sleep and don’t want to hear about your batshit fantasies. Go drool over Park’s corpse somewhere else!”

 

Speaking of being back on one’s shit, Dwight sounded as delightful as ever between the congestion of a day’s worth of tears and a whopping two hours of sleep. Meg’s demeanor quickly pivoted from surprise to downright pissed, running on even less sleep and easily twice the crying. All the tension of recent events was finally coming to an ugly head, right here and now.

 

Because exactly what this day needed, Nea thought, pinching the bridge of her nose, was a goddamn fight.

 

“Eat a dick, you herpes scab!” Meg grabbed a nearby stone and chucked it at the source of the complaint (and hit it, if the resulting “fuck” was any indication). “He’s your friend too! God knows how many times he died going back to save your pasty four-eyed ass!”

 

“Yeah, god knows--fucking never!” Dwight was on his feet and in a heartbeat Meg was standing to match, leaving Nea to scramble back from the brewing fight. Laurie was doing the same, awake and alert and very slowly backing away from the argument. “It was always me getting the hook while he fucked off for the exit, or me going back for HIM!”

 

Laurie raised her hands placatingly, soft voice pleading, “Guys, lets not--”

 

“That’s a goddamn lie and you know it, wonderbread. I watched Jake go back for you,” Meg snarled, pushing Dwight’s shoulder with an accusing finger. “Every chance he got to even try, if he thought just one of you could make it, he went back. And when did you ever, even once--” she pokes with enough force to make Dwight stagger a step back-- “thank him for it?”

 

“Don’t t-touch me, bitch!” With an indignant squawk, the self-proclaimed leader is back in Meg’s face. “When the fuck did you ever thank him, huh? Or me? When have you ever thanked anyone for anything? Why did it take Jake Park kicking the fucking bucket for you to even care about him?”

 

“Shut up!” Meg snapped.

 

“No!” This argument made something in Nea twist painfully. “You didn’t even like Jake until he fucking died.”

 

“He’s not dead.”

 

“Park is dead and so are you, get over it.”

 

“He’s not dead!”

 

“Okay, yo, don’t--” Nea’s weak interjection fell on deaf ears.

 

“Then where is he?!” Dwight steps away, arms open wide as he gestures to the nearly-empty clearing. “Where the fuck is your frolicking, raven-fucking gremlin right now, Meg?” Dwight sneers, his voice turning singsong. “Is he behind a tree? Hiding in a bush? Oh, wait! Maybe he’s squatting on the same rock you’re evidently living under, you stupid cu--”

 

There was a scuffle as Ace and David emerged from the woodwork to restrain a furious Meg, her sneakers scraped into dirt and ash as she spat. “FUCK YOU!” Nea saw the fresh tears falling off her friend’s chin as she was held back, the other survivors forming a crowd around them.

 

Dwight looked utterly smug at the reaction despite having flinched back only moments before. “Let her go, guys, baby Meggie’s not gonna fight me.”

 

“Eat SHIT!”

 

“Mate, stop--”

 

“Really, she’s not!” Dwight goaded. “It’s not what her dear departed Jacob, friend of the forest, would have wanted. She’d never dare, lest his unbeating heart shatter into pieces at the very thought!”

 

“Dwight--”

 

Meg shrieked, straining desperately against the arms holding her back and knocking Ace’s glasses off in the process. “He’s not DEAD!”

 

“Then come fucking get me, Raggedy Ann!”

 

Nea felt that nagging feeling yank at her core.

 

“Dwight, shut UP--”

 

“Kids, knock it off--”

 

“Bill, _don’t_ \--”

 

Ace reached for his fallen sunglasses and lost his grip on Meg’s other arm, which was enough for the girl to wrench out of David’s grasp and charge at Dwight with a sound that would have made a killer flinch. She grabbed him by the collar and hoisted the much-less-muscular man to his tiptoes as he suddenly rethought his chances of beating a pissed-off Meg in a fistfight.

 

“Fucking call me that one more time, shrimp dick.” Flecks of spittle launched from between Meg’s gritted teeth and peppered Dwight’s glasses.

 

Blessed be the bravado of a man who knows he can’t win, though, so naturally Dwight’s response was a shaky and uneven: “B-beef or chicken.”

 

If looks could have killed, the Entity would have been absolutely thrilled with Meg Thompson.

 

Nea let out the breath she was holding as Meg forcefully shoved Dwight’s collar back, stomping away with her hands raised. And Dwight, not knowing what it means to be spared, repeated himself much louder. “Beef or chicken, Meggie! What, you walking away now? Beef or chicken?”

 

“Oh my god dude stop talking--”

 

“Beef or chicken?!”

 

Just as Meg pulled a 180 with a ready fist, Claudette stood dead between her and Dwight with the most serene expression Nea had ever seen on someone’s face. Everyone froze in place as the group’s best mediator entered the danger zone of the fight, waiting with baited breath to see whose side she’d take.

 

Claudette looked at Meg.

 

And she looked at Dwight.

 

Then Claudette _slapped_ Meg so hard Nea swore she felt her own cheek sting.

 

“Ha! Get fuc--”

 

And then Claudette punched Dwight square in the nose with a vicious right hook, sending him careening into the dirt. He surfaced, panting open-mouthed as blood ran down his chin.

 

She shook the impact out of her hand, pushed her glasses further up her nose, and spoke just loud enough for the others to hear.

 

“Beef.”

 

With that, Claudette Morel turned on her heel and walked into the waiting arms of an oncoming trial, leaving a stunned-silent audience and a bloody nose behind.

  
_We are so fucked_ , Nea decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im moving, expect a nice big break between chapters here. also, this is my first time writing fanfic so pwease no slappy


	4. Four of Cups, Upright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spiderman, Spiderman, does whatever the Entity can

“ _Disrespect your surroundings_!”

 

Meg’s battle cry carried across the water of the lake seconds before the rather unexciting sploonk of a small rock being thrown into the water.

 

“That’ll show the Entity. Fuck his lake.”

 

“Shut up, David.” Meg pursed her lips in a pout and scuffed the gravel along the shore, sending a wave of pebbles into the water.

 

“No really. ‘M sure Spiderman is proper shook.”

 

Nea wrinkled her nose and twisted at the waist, straining to look at David over her shoulder. “Spiderman?”

 

“Ye,” he insisted, hunching his shoulders and waggling hooked fingers as if to emulate a spider. “On account’a all his fucking leg spikes.”

 

Meg looked incredulous. “Those are tentacles.”

 

“Those are not tentacles at all, Meg, _what_ \--”

 

“I mean, I guess they could be tentacles.”

 

“Nea. My delicate trash panda. Those legs are definitely not tentacles.”

 

Meg threw another rock in the water as Nea turned to face David, wringing out her now-rinsed beanie. “Makes more sense than Spiderman,” Meg said, watching the rippling water still itself. “Spiderman is a _hero_. The Entity’s just a soul stealing cocksucker.”

 

“Ah yes, that’s what this is,” David smiled wide enough to show off his missing teeth. “Booty-call of Cthulu.”

 

“David, that’s gross.”

 

“Um,” Nea squinted at Meg. “You literally said you wanted to fuck Huntress.”

 

Shrugging nonchalantly, the girl in question started walking back towards the treeline. “That’s because she’s hot, and tentacles are gross! I stand by what I said.”

 

“And I’ve seen enough hentai to know where this is going.” Nea sighed, resigned, and stood up. Thick, syrupy fog was starting to ebb from between the trees, an indicator that their time at the lake was quickly coming to a close. A trial was starting at the camp, and even though the survivors had probably delegated amongst themselves who would take up the challenge, everyone was required to attend. This was one of the many weird laws lain out by the Entity, but, Nea thought, at least it made some sense.

 

Things had been weirdly tense amidst the group in the fallout of The Fight. Claudette was still amicable enough around most, but if Meg or Dwight would try to interact with her she immediately clammed up or walked away. Nea was much accustomed to the soft, tired smile on Claudette’s round face. The now tight-pressed line of the gardener’s mouth, laced with blame and repulsion, was not at all fitting.

 

Nea felt like she was watching one of the small lights in such a dark and unhappy place wink out, leaving only embers and smoke to fade fast in its wake.

 

“You think too much.”

 

At some point while they were wandering back to camp, David had slung his arm around Nea’s shoulders. This was almost comical, the way he could go from inappropriate jokes and retellings of bar brawls to deep concern and protectiveness at the flip of a switch. With a sigh, Nea relaxed into the touch and threw her arm to mirror David’s.

 

“At least someone in this shit pit is thinking. Maybe one of these years I’ll think up a way out of here and smuggle everyone back to Sweden. We could be a gang.”

 

He pondered this with a hum. “Or, you’ll overthink everything and end up like a modern Vigo.”

 

Nea grimaced. “I like the gang thing better. You’d look good on a motorbike.”

 

David made a grand gesture of rolling his eyes before gently tugging Nea to a stop, a hand on each of her shoulders. “You know I absolutely cherish you. And I’m actually worried. You’ve been acting different ever since Jake died for keeps, and I don’t want…” He huffed, choosing his next words carefully. “I don’t want you getting isolated and disappearing.”

 

Nea shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “D’you really think I’m shutting off that much? Besides, I can’t walk five feet without someone circling me like a vulture. We’ve all been--”

 

“--I made a pact with some of the others to tag along with those of us who usually like their privacy. Just to stick together and not let anyone wander far without a buddy. We don’t know how Jake vanished, but it’s obviously gotten to some folks worse than others, you included. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but you’ve shut yourself off more than usual.” He squeezed her shoulders for a moment. “I’m not losing anyone else. Especially not you.”

 

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence that seemed to hang in place between them. Nea pursed her lips, her narrowed eyes scanning David’s neutral expression as if looking for something without knowing what. The brit could be protective of his friends, but far be it from David to coddle someone needlessly. Maybe she was shutting herself up and away, if her best friend was this concerned. She glanced in the direction she'd last seen Meg hoping for a lifeline, but the other girl had long since gone onward. Nea was left stranded with an uneasiness that weighed more than the calloused palms resting on her shoulders. Somehow, being caught in the mess of her own behavior felt more dangerous than a killer just around the corner.

 

What was she hiding from now?

 

“Who started the pact?”

 

Satisfied that he wasn’t pushed away outright, David slid an arm back around Nea’s shoulder but didn't quite start walking again. “Dwight, the absolute madman. It was the first thing he’s said in a while that sounded leaderly.”

 

“Huh." Considering for a moment, she took hold of David's shoulder. "Okay, I’ll buy it.” She let herself be guided forward and found herself grateful for the warm contact. The two resumed their leisurely pace back to camp, and as they walked, Nea felt the unease melt and a rare sense of comfort took its place.

 

They walked in silence for a while, relishing in the stillness of the dense woods. Nea could almost dream of birdsong instead of tinnitus, and she felt herself reaching into her mind to recall the feeling of sunshine on her skin. Even the gloomy orange haze cloyed here now could be mistaken for the setting sun. Despite her better judgement, she took in these memories and her friend's presence and pretended--just for a moment--that she was safe.

 

“So, about your gang,” she could hear the smugness tugging at the corners of her friend's crooked mouth. “Why not start one here while we’re at it? I mean, we already have you, me, and Firecracker. We’re the resident gays.”

 

Nea smiled wryly. “Ah, yes, we’re a solidarity group who’s taking the Entity’s squat for the Gays. Yes. Excellent. I’ll get started on the spray tags if you can find some rainbow kerchiefs.”

 

“Hey, there ya go! Spiderman will never know what hit ‘m.”

 

“...”

 

“... What?”

 

“You’re seriously still on that Spiderman shit?”

 

“Hey, it’s not Spiderman’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, so I just:  
> -moved  
> -lost my job  
> -got caught in the AK 7.0 and lost my apartment  
> -ended up in a Red Cross Shelter for a night before they kicked everyone out  
> -broke up with my boyfriend  
> -am about to move again, out of state this time  
> Sorry for the short shitty chapter, but thanks for all the kudos. Stay saucy.


	5. Ten of Wands, Reversed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been mean to Dwight lately huh

Trials were mandatory. Dying was optional.

 

Even the best killers could be out-played. Making it out untouched was almost nigh impossible, but the reward for doing so was often substantial… if not unsavory.

 

Nea heard the impact of a hatchet on brick somewhere behind her and relished in the fact that it didn’t matter. She barely felt her sneakers impact on the underbrush; it had been one of those trials where looking back was a death sentence and the narrow escape did nothing to stop pure adrenaline from urging her through the fog. Blood was thunder in her ears and electric in her toes and even as the fog swallowed Nea whole she was grinning, unconquered, _alive_.

 

And then the fog parted and Nea went careening over a tree root, skidding headlong into the dirt.

 

Classy.

 

After laying face-down for a moment and wallowing in self pity, she peeled herself off the ground for a damage check. _So much for untouchable_ , Nea thought, picking gravel out of a scrape on her shoulder. Her knee was pretty busted, too, but aside from that the only thing hurt was her free-bird vibe, until she noticed exactly _where_ the Entity had spat her out.

 

Nea, for one, had never been a fan of the bloodweb. It was a massive net of black, fetid, pulsating tar hung between several sturdy trees in a small thicket. She’d only ever stumbled into it after particularly good trials, and always alone; supposedly this was the Entity’s idea of a “reward”. The center of the web hung low, at shoulder height, and was dripping a blobby substance that smeared red when touched. The whole point of the thing was to stick an entire arm in and see what you got. The rewards could be great. Toolboxes, medkits, keys, various odds and ends—good stuff for getting a leg up on the next killer. But the best thing to find was _memories_. Not even just your own memories; often times you would pull out a momento from another survivor’s life and feel what they learned sink into your skin. It was empowering and otherworldly and humbling all at once.

 

Nea just wished she didn’t have to shove a limb into a stinking orb of death goo to get any of it.

 

With a groan, she rose to her feet and wiped the dust off her jeans halfheartedly. The center of the web spat out a gob of ooze in front of her, and she weighed her options. Ostensibly she could just leave, arrive back at the campfire empty handed and resign herself to a rousing session of the Blame Game from whoever felt like fighting tonight. At least she would sit in on whatever argument was center field with an arm that was deliciously goo-free. On the other hand, she didn’t quite know if or when she’d ever be thrown back here, and rewards for performance were few.

 

Nea examined a hand, covered in grime, and then considered the bloodweb.

 

This was gonna suck.

 

Face scrunched in disgust, Nea pushed her hand into the undulating mass until her arm was swallowed by the slime. The web started to drip from the top, dropping down from strand to strand until it reached the center. Nea groped around blindly, feeling for something to pull out, and almost gagged when her fingers brushed against something distinctly warm and fibrous—hair? It was small enough for her to grab with just one hand, so she did and retracted her arm

 

_oh god what the fuck_

 

It was a baby bird, writhing and alive, covered in bloody mucus.

 

Nea dry heaved, somehow keeping the bird in hand _._ It’s tiny beak stretched wide in a soundless cry before dissolving into the same black sludge it had come from and oozing between her fingers to the forest floor below. The bloodweb gave one big shudder, spitting blood from it’s center, then stilled once again.

 

Nea heaved again before hissing through clenched teeth as her brain made a valiant attempt at escape through her eye sockets. Her hands flew to her head as if to contain the agony, fingers curling into the material of her beanie, and she screwed her eyes shut tight. _It will pass_ , she consoled herself, _it's only temporary_. True to her own reassurance, the pain subsided and the roar of her own heartbeat began to fade and give way to birdsong.

 

* * *

 

 

_For the first time in a long, long while, Nea felt sunlight on her skin. She opened her eyes slowly, breathing in the smell of pine and recent rain and faint cigarette smoke. The trees around her were dense firs, and a few patches of snow were scattered over the uneven earth. It was early spring in a place she had never been before._

 

_Movement at her feet caught her eye. A smashed bird nest lay in front of her, and the tiny bird from before stretched it’s stumpy wings with a weak peep. She squatted and reached out with hands that didn’t belong to her, stroked it’s head with a single finger, and scooped the tiny animal into a much larger palm than her own._

 

_Nea opened her mouth without thinking and Jake’s voice came out._

 

_“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. I don’t think you fell far.” The birdsong above showed no signs of panic. “Your parents are gone, but that’s fine. You can come with me, okay?_

_“I promise I’ll take care of you.”_

 

_Still shushing, Nea deposited the baby bird into a spacious jacket pocket, took one last glance around, and took one step forward._

 

Just like that, the memory was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, chucklefuck, it’s about time.”

 

Nea’s senses rushed back to her all at once. The step she had taken was one into the campgrounds, which were surprisingly empty. Dwight had called to her from his usual spot by the fire, looking more relaxed than he had in recent memory.

 

“What, four-eyes, did you miss me or something?” She walked forward, crossing to sit across the fire from the other survivor. “I had to stop at the bloodweb.”

 

Dwight nodded. “Get anything good?”

 

Nea hesitated and pursed her lips. The other survivors were _still_ at odds over Jake, especially Dwight and Claudette. Bringing him back up wouldn’t lead to anything good, and there wasn’t enough bad blood between Nea and Dwight to warrant pissing him off. If he was in good spirits, too, then there certainly wasn't any reason to spoil that and leave him disgruntled for the others.

 

“No. Broken key.”

 

“Ugh, that’s the worst. Sorry you got jilted out of anything worthwhile.”

 

Stifling her relief that Dwight had accepted the lie, Nea looked around. “Did I miss something? We’re looking pretty empty.”

 

“A bunch of trials started all at once. It’s just me right now.” He said, taking off his glasses to wipe uselessly at the grimy lenses with his tie. “Suits me fine. I get tired of being the token sacrifice just because I say what people don’t want to hear.”

 

“‘S tough being Lord of the Flies, huh?”

 

Dwight let out a dry _ha_ , smirking as he put his glasses back on. “You know it. I just…” He paused, thinking his next words over. “I’m mean about. Stuff. I talk like that because it seems to be the only way to get attention around here, especially with Meg. You guys are putting… You put Park on a pedestal and that’s not right. And everyone’s still getting up in arms about it because they don’t want to think that our ‘immortality’ here might be a lot more finite than we all thought.”

 

"You really think he's gone. You're not... upset about it? About him?"

 

"Even if he isn't _gone_ gone, that doesn't change the fact that he's not _here_. I have people who _are here_ that _I_ need to look out for, and now that we have the risk of actual, permanent _death_ with our trials, it's that much more responsibility. You guys have the luxury of getting to be sad and nostalgic. I have to make sure everyone stays sharp and alive, and if I break hearts to do that, then--then call me a villain. I don't care because I don't get to care." Dwight sighed loudly, pushing his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment before wiping his mouth and continuing. "Of course I'm upset about Jake. He didn't deserve to be here. None of us did. Back when it was just us four... back before our group was so big and I had to be an asshole to be heard, we were good friends. He's--He was. He was someone who valued hard work and staying alive together. Then, more people started coming, and they listened to me less and got on his nerves more and he just. He shut himself up away from people. I don't know how long ago it was I last talked to him, and now he's..."

 

"Not here."

 

"Yeah."

 

Surprised by the sudden vulnerability from Dwight, Nea leaned forward into a more relaxed position. "Why not tell others the truth? How you feel about it?"

 

Dwight shook his head. "Like I said, the others have a hard time listening when it's not what they want to hear. You know Meg, she can be really stubborn. Me being gentle with her stopped working a long time ago, and I don't want you," he looked pointedly at Nea, "or anyone else getting her hopes up. If he comes back, great! He's Jesus, and we can all shit our pants later. If he doesn't? She can't throw herself at a fantasy of him coming back, or doing whatever the fuck it was you were talking about with the crows and shit. We all have to be careful, her especially. Her and Claudette, and all the others."

 

Nea swallowed. She could see where he was coming from and she didn't quite like the taste it left in her mouth.

 

"Why tell me? I mean," she threw her hands up defensively at his hurt expression. "I'm not trying to be rude, but uh. You and I don't exactly talk much. Why--why not David, or Bill, or--"

 

"I don't know. I don't know why you."

 

"... oh."

 

The silence felt heavy.

 

"I. I guess it's just because you're the first person who hasn't said 'fuck you' upon seeing me here lately," Dwight offered. "David and I aren't really talking right now. Bill's a nice guy, but he's only seen me be an asshole, and he doesn't like it, so we don't talk either. Everyone else is pissed off about the big fight with Meg."

 

"Yeah, we are." Dwight's head snapped up to look at Nea, who spoke bluntly but without venom. "You really said some hurtful stuff. And we're taking it hard, just like we're taking losing Jake hard. I can see what you mean, with people not listening sometimes, but maybe you took it to far and right now we can control how we interact with you, so we're mad about it. Some of us might take it out on you during a trial, and I'm sorry about that, but that's the reaction you earned yourself. You sent the message you wanted to send alright, this is the price for it."

 

“If I go next, then maybe the message will sink in better,” Dwight replied quietly, his words bitter. “You guys won’t have me to take the fall for you. Maybe you’ll start taking better care of each other out there and stop throwing your teammates in harm’s way.”

 

Nea made eye contact with Dwight through the smoke. In the firelight, she could see every imperfection--the blood splatter, the dirt, the exhaustion. More than likely, it was an echo of her own weary complexion. She tried to imagine Dwight happy.

 

“I’m sorry that’s how you feel.”

 

“Me too.”

 

And with the laughably horrid timing that only an eldritch god could have, the Entity sent David Tapp screaming out of the sky and into the brush on the other end of the campground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I'm still going through some shit and this whole fic is honestly hot garbage but thanks for reading
> 
> I moved out of the rubble of my old apartment and out of AK entirely, so I've been struggling to get my life together again from the bottom up. Wish me luck.


End file.
